Mending Fences
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Post Moving On: A still furious Cuddy nonetheless turns to House when Julia gets sick.


**The medicine in this fic is the absolute worst kind: Half based on real science and half made-up. I apologize to all doctors who read this one in advance. Also, eternal thanks to my future Polish roomie, for her ongoing nagging (and moral support).-atd**

House was conducting a DDx when Foreman showed up in the doorway.

"Gotta case for you," he said to House, gesturing for him to follow him into the hallway.

House popped up: "I like to let him pretend that he's my boss," he said to his team.

"I _am_ your boss," Foreman said.

"Of course you are," House said, winking broadly.

He followed Foreman into the hall.

"Whatchya got?" he said, taking the file, but not yet looking at it.

"Caucasian female. 39 years old. Complaining of persistent nausea, dizziness, headaches, and indigestion."

House frowned.

"Is she also complaining that when she pees on a pregnancy test it says positive?"

"She's not pregnant."

"Crohn's Disease?" he said, vaguely flipping through the file.

"Negative."

"Ovarian cancer?"

"Not that either."

House shrugged.

"I dunno. Sounds like a mystery. Also sounds like she's not nearly sick enough to be my patient. But thanks for playing!"

He roughly shoved the file back at Foreman.

"Why don't you read the name on the file before you say no?" Foreman said, knowingly.

House finally took a closer look. His eyes widened.

"Julia Cuddy?" he said.

"Yes."

"As in Cuddy's sister Julia Cuddy?"

"The very one," Foreman said.

"And. . .Cuddy knows that I'll be the one treating her?"

"She asked for you specifically."

House cradled the file tightly against his chest, as though he was suddenly afraid Foreman was going to take it away from him.

"I'll do it," he said.

"I figured so much," Foreman said with a self-satisfied smirk. "Julia and her family will be arriving tomorrow."

As Foreman walked away, House was suddenly overcome by an almost overwhelming sense of relief.

In jail, he had written several letters to Cuddy—the tone veered wildly from apologetic, to angry, to nakedly desperate—all of which went unanswered. In his mind, he was dead to her and, what's more, he deserved to be. A small part of House had always feared that one day Cuddy would wake up and realize just how fucked up he was and walk out of his life for good. His little vehicular temper tantrum had sealed that fate.

But _this_. This was like a chance for redemption by way of the one thing in this life he knew he was actually good at. Maybe he couldn't be a good boyfriend or a good father or, hell, a good human being. But a good doctor. That's the one thing he had. And she had asked for him "specifically."

He pulled out his cell phone. He had deleted her number, to discourage him from drunk dialing, but that was merely a symbolic gesture. Of course he had it memorized.

He dialed.

She picked up after two rings.

"So you'll do it?" she said, impatiently.

He was slightly throw off.

"It's me," he gulped. "House."

"I know," she said. "So you'll do it ? You'll treat my sister?"

"Of course. I'm just so grateful that you. . ."

"Good."

And she hung up.

House stared at the phone, dumbfounded, for a few seconds. _She's got a lot on her mind_, he told himself. _She's upset about Julia_. Once he swooped in and the saved the day, she'd have no choice but to love him again. He was sure of it.

######

He ordered a bunch of GI tests for Julia and found Cuddy sitting alone in her sister's room.

"Hi," he said, cautiously.

"What are you doing here?" she said.

"I work here."

"What are you doing here in my sister's room?"

"I'm . . . she's my patient. Where else should I be?"

"I don't know? At your desk, throwing a ball against a wall? Brainstorming."

"I have nothing to brainstorm until I get the results of her tests."

"Fine. Then leave me out of it."

He was struck by how measured and cold her voice was. It was disconcerting.

He had come in to talk to her, maybe even comfort her, but he sensed a need to change course.

"I thought I could ask you some questions about Julia's health," he said, playing the role of concerned doctor. "What you've observed. Her symptoms."

"No," she said.

"_No?_"

"That's not what you do. You don't talk to the family of the patient. You don't even talk to the patient. You treat symptoms, not people, remember? Have one of your minions come ask me about what I've observed."

"You're not just any other family member. You're. . ."

"I'm what, House?" she snapped.

He looked down at his feet.

"You're the former dean of medicine at this hospital," he mumbled.

"And all I want is the same standard of care for Julia you apply to all your patients. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Of course not. I just. . .I've taken a keen interest in. . ."

"I don't want your keen interest. I want you to do your job like you always do and leave me alone."

He swallowed hard, nodded.

"I understand," he said.

######

Later, he went back to Julia's room.

Now she was sitting in her bed, eating Jell-o. Her husband Michael was there and so was Arlene.

They all scowled when they saw him.

"I was told I would never have to actually lay eyes on you," Julia said, half-jokingly.

"Sorry," House said. "And yet here I am."

Then he addressed Michael and Arlene: "Can I have a few minutes alone with my patient?"

"Of course," Michael said.

"She has a rape whistle," Arlene warned, backing out.

"Delightful as ever, Arlene," House said.

When they were alone, he turned to Julia.

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Still nauseated. And a little embarrassed that Lisa admitted me."

"There's nothing embarrassing about being sick," he said. "It kind of comes with the whole 'being human' thing."

She looked at him, alarmed.

"You think I'm really sick?"

"I didn't say really sick," he said, reassuringly. "I said sick. And I'm going to cure you."

He lifted her hospital gown.

"May I?" he said, pressing his hands against her stomach. There was something confident and reassuring about his touch.

He palpated her.

"That hurt?" he said.

"A little," she said, gritting her teeth.

"That face reads more than a little," he said.

"Okay, a lot."

He looked at her chart. "We've already ruled out most of the big stuff," he said. "So that's good."

"But you still have no idea what's wrong with me," she said.

"That's . . . less good."

He sat down in the chair next to her bed, where Michael had been sitting.

"Where's big sis?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"She's on kid duty. She and Michael and mom are taking turns."

"Right," House said. Then, still flipping through her chart, he said: "So what's changed in your life? New diet? Laundry detergent? Been going on any scavenger hunts in toxic waste dumps?"

"Well, my sister got a new house after her asshole ex-boyfriend destroyed the last one."

"Touché," House said, with a sad smile. "But not relevant. Cuddy and Rachel aren't sick. What else?"

"Nothing," Julia said.

"C'mon. Think. No travel? No new hobbies? New air conditioning unit at work?"

"Nothing like that."

"Any new boy toys?"

"Are you asking if I'm . . . having an affair?" Julia said, aghast.

"Just between us girls," House said.

"Of course not! I'm way too boring to cheat on my husband."

He smiled. That was the most honest answer he'd ever heard to that question.

Then he noticed her untouched Jell-o. "No appetite at all?"

"More like, Jell-o sucks," she said.

"Good point. Whatchya in the mood for?"

"Frozen yogurt?"

"There's a frozen yogurt machine in the cafeteria. We'll smuggle some in. Here's my pager number." He scribbled the number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "Call me if you need me."

"Thanks House," Julia said, looking at the number. "I mean it."

"Oh, one more thing," House said. "Don't tell Cuddy I'm treating you personally. She wants me to stay behind the scenes."

"I thought I did, too," Julia said. "But I actually. . .don't mind having you here."

"Good," House said. "Then I'll be back later to check in on you."

He left her room and stepped into the hall, where Arlene and Michael were sitting on a bench.

"She's all yours," he said.

"If you did anything to upset her, so help me God, House, I will hunt you down," Arlene said.

"Never change, Arlene," he said, and headed back to his office to think.

#####

He found Cuddy later, alone in the waiting room.

"What isn't Julia telling me?" he said.

She looked up at him.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm convinced that whatever is ailing her is environmental. Everybody lies. So what is she lying to me about? You're her bestest friend and sister. I figure you'd know."

"House, I don't know anything."

"Think."

"I will think. And if anything occurs to me, I'll tell Chase."

"Chase isn't her primary physician. I am."

"Yes, but I prefer dealing with him," she said stubbornly.

"Is this really way to treat the man who is trying to save your sister?" House said testily. The minute it came out, he regretted it.

"Are you suggesting that if I don't act nice to you you're not going to take good care of her?" Cuddy said.

(Well, he'd finally done it: Her voice had gone from cold to angry.)

"No, of course not," he said.

"House, this isn't some joyful reunion. This isn't some golden opportunity to mend fences with me. That fence will never be mended, House. This is me asking you to me a favor, because you owe me one—big time."

"More than one," he said, seriously.

"Good. Then cure my sister."

"I'm working on it," he said.

#######

He stopped by Julia's room again that night.

She was alone.

"Where's my fan club?" he asked, looking around the room.

"I sent them all home," she said. "Their hovering was making me anxious."

"The Cuddy women? Hovering? Never!"

Julia laughed. "We are a somewhat in-your-face group," she admitted.

"You love each other," House said, sincerely. "That's a good thing."

Then he glanced at her. "How you feeling?"

"Honestly? Worse."

"Worse can be good."

"Really? How."

"Pinpoint your symptoms. Which right now are extremely vague. So what's worse?"

"The nausea."

"Can't hold anything down?"

"We're about to find out. I tried to eat about 5 minutes before you got . . ."—and before she could finish the sentence, she began to gag.

House quickly grabbed a bed pan and held her hair as she threw up.

"Oh God," Julia said, embarrassed, as House handed her a wet nap to wipe her face. "I'm sorry."

"That was my first time seeing vomit, so it was equally traumatic for both of us," he cracked.

She smiled wearily.

"Ugh," she said.

"You're good, Julia. Not all of my patients are able to produce their symptoms like that on command. You have advanced skillz."

"So extreme nausea. Does that narrow things down?"

He shrugged.

"Not really," he said. "Lucky you! That means more tests tomorrow!"

"Living the dream," she said, resting her head wearily against the pillow.

"I'm also going to up your anti-nausea meds," he said, fiddling with her IV. "Should calm your stomach a bit."

"Thanks, House."

He looked at her.

"You wanna. . .play cards or something? Get your mind off things?"

"Don't you have to go home?"

"To what?" he said glumly.

She gave him a "don't try to make me feel sorry for you" look, but then shrugged.

"I guess so. Why not?. . ."

But just then, there was the sound of a throat being cleared. It was Cuddy, standing in the doorway.

She took note of the bedpan that was still in House's hand.

"Your sister can't hold her alcohol," he cracked, by way of explanation.

"You were sick?" Cuddy said, rushing to Julia's bedside.

"Yeah, I. . .but House increased my meds—"

"Domperidome," House said, and Cuddy nodded.

"I feel better now," Julia said.

"Good," she said, taking Julia's hand.

House glanced at them for a second.

"I'll…uh…leave you two alone," he said.

"Thanks," Cuddy said, not looking up.

"Raincheck?" Julia said.

House grinned at her: "Definitely," he said. Then he gave a tiny bow: "G'night ladies."

Cuddy frowned at Julia after he left.

"Raincheck?" she said.

"We were, uh, going to play cards together," Julia said.

"You and Gregory House? Were going to play cards together?"

"He's been really. . .great, Lis."

"_Great?_"

"I mean, I think for the first time I finally understand what you saw in him."

"He tried to run you over with his car!"

"What happened to 'that wasn't the real House?' Even at the height of your anger you told me that."

"And you told me I was delusional."

"Well, I was wrong. He's. . .sweet."

"House is many things. Sweet is not one of them," Cuddy said.

"Well, he's been very sweet to me."

Cuddy cocked an eyebrow.

"Julia Cuddy, are you developing a _crush_ on him?"

Julia laughed.

"No. First of all, I have no delusions about the fact that he's only being nice to me because I'm your sister. Second, I'm happily married, remember?" She waved her ring, as if to remind her sister of her matrimonial state. "And third, I don't go for that bad boy type. That's always been your deal. I'm just saying for the first time, I really get it. When Gregory House focuses all of his attention on you, it can be pretty. . .exhilarating."

"You sound exactly like me…in college, when I first developed my crush on him."

"Shut up!"

"You shut up!" Cuddy laughed.

For a second, they were transported back to their childhood, two sisters giggling under the covers, until Julia grew serious. "I'm glad you forced me to do this, Lis. I feel like I'm good hands here."

Cuddy nodded.

"You're in the best."

######

The decision to drive the car through the dining room wasn't really a decision at all—just an insane, destructive impulse, a moment of pure id, not completely unlike punching a wall when angry. He just pressed down hard on the accelerator and then, suddenly, he was standing there, feeling strangely dazed and half triumphant, holding Cuddy's brush, dusting plaster off his jacket and . . . oh shit, why wasn't Julia Cuddy moving?

She was lying on the floor, immobile. Her limbs all seemed wrong, akimbo. Cuddy knelt beside her, frantically. When Cuddy lifted Julia's head, blood poured out of her mouth.

"You killed her! You killed my sister!" Cuddy screamed.

And House woke up in a cold sweat.

######

"Any progress with Julia?" Wilson said, sitting down across from House in the cafeteria.

"She's getting worse and I have no idea what's wrong with her," House said.

"You'll figure it out," Wilson said, confidently.

"What if I don't?"

"_What_?"

"I said, what if I don't?"

Wilson squinted.

"Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?"

"I'm just saying, there's a chance I won't figure out what's wrong with her."

"First of all, you always figure it out. Second of all, you always _know_ you're going to figure it out. This is about Cuddy, isn't it?"

House hesitated a second before deciding to come clean.

"She's barely talking to me. How do you think she'll feel if I kill her sister?"

"Since she's barely talking to you, you have no place to go but up, House."

"Not helpful."

"Sorry. She told me at lunch yesterday that you were taking great care of Julia."

"You had lunch with her?" House said, jealously.

"Yeah. I thought you knew?"

"How would I know? Nobody tells me anything. Did she say anything else about me?"

"Just that it's hard to be around you. It hurts her a lot."

"Oh bullshit. She's an ice queen."

"She has a good game face, House. Just like you do."

House gave a half shrug.

"The funny thing is, Julia used to be my arch nemesis. Now she's the only Cuddy woman who can stand me. Except for Rachel. I'm hoping she still likes me."

"I'm sure she does, House."

"Why? Did Cuddy say anything?" House asked, with eager, stupid optimism.

Wilson gave him a curious look.

"No, House. She didn't say anything."

"Right." He shook his head, feeling foolish. "Of course. Why would she?"

Wilson studied him.

"Are you going to be okay House? Is this all too much for you?"

"No," House said. "Everything's under control."

#######

He went to visit Julia again that night.

"Am I going to die?" she asked him.

"We're all going to die," he said.

"Am I going to die in …the immediate future?" she said.

"I don't think so."

"You don't _think_ so?"

"Right now your symptoms are not life-threatening."

"That's not very comforting." Then she smiled: "But I appreciate the fact that you always keep it real with me."

"I considered keeping it fake, but I decided this was better."

"So should I be panicking?"

"Look, Julia, you're sick. I'm not going to sugar coat that. But I'm going to do everything in my power to figure out why you're sick. I promise. I don't do unsolved puzzles."

"Also, if I die on your watch, my sister will really never talk to you again," she teased.

He looked at her earnestly.

"This is about you, not her."

"It's a _little_ bit about her," Julia said, with an understanding smile. "I see the way you look at her. I get it."

"It's irrelevant how I look at her. As she recently put it, that fence can never be mended."

"Don't be so sure, House," Julia said, musingly. "I see the way she looks at you, too."

######

When he left Julia's room, he nearly crashed into Cuddy in the hall.

"Excuse me," he said, lowering his eyes, and limping past her.

"House," she said.

He took a sharp breath and turned.

She walked up to him.

"I want to say. . .thank you for taking such good care of my sister."

"I'm just doing my job," he said.

"No, you're doing more than your job. You're being a good friend. She told me so herself."

"Well, she's a good patient."

She put her hand on his arm. He looked down at it.

"So I want to say. . .thank you for ignoring my wishes and getting more personally involved. It means a lot to Julia. . .and to me."

House gulped.

"You're welcome."

######

The next day, at about 6 pm, House was in his office looking over Julia's scans for anything he could've possibly missed, when his pager went off.

"Shit," he said.

He limped quickly to Julia's room. Arlene and Cuddy were there, plus Chase and Taub, and several nurses rushing about busily.

Julia was on the bed, looking pale and clammy. She was shaking a bit.

"She had a seizure," Chase explained.

House walked up to Julia, used his pen light to look in her eyes.

"You okay?" he said softly to her.

"Yeah, just scared."

"Don't be," he said, trying to affect an air of confidence. "Remember what I said about new symptoms: They help me figure out what's wrong with you."

"What the hell are you doing to her?" Arlene shouted at him. "She's not getting better! She's getting worse!"

"She's getting worse because she's sick, Mom," Cuddy said gently.

"The only reason I agreed to come back to this God forsaken place is because you told me he was the best!" Arlene shouted at her. "Look at him! He has no idea what's wrong with her!"

"We've ruled out several. . ." House started.

"Ruled out! Who cares what you ruled out! Tell me what's wrong with my daughter!"

"I don't exactly know. . ."

"Mom, leave him alone," Julia said.

"Why do continue to let this man in our lives?" Arlene said, rhetorically. "First he tries to kill you both. Now we're letting him try to cure you? He's poison. He's absolute poison to this family!"

"If you want another doctor to treat your daughter. . ." House started.

"No!" Julia said, anxiously.

"Mom, that's not a good idea, for anyone," Cuddy said.

"Then tell me what's wrong with my daughter! Just tell me!" Arlene bellowed at House.

For a second, House looked like he was going to explode. His hands clenched some imaginary foe in the air.

"I just need to …think!" he shouted—and stormed out.

Cuddy watched him, in dismay.

"I've got this," she said. And followed him back to his office.

######

He was sitting, with his head in his hands.

"Your mom's right," he said quietly. "I have no idea what I'm fucking doing here."

She sat down across from him.

"Why House? I don't even recognize you right now. The House I know just keeps bulldozing and brainstorming and barreling over all the laws of standard care until he comes up with a diagnosis."

"I don't know," House said. "Her case. . .it's particularly vexing."

"No, House, it's not."

He looked up at her.

"You're right," he said. "It's not."

"This is because of me, right? You're freaking out because of me?" She shook her head. "It was stupid of me to think that you could just blithely go about your job without your feelings getting involved. You're just human, House."

"Am not!" he cracked.

"You're not the only one, you know," she admitted. "I thought I could just be the anonymous patient's sister, who has zero contact with you."

"You've done a pretty good impression of that," he said.

"I've tried. I've actually been a little jealous over all the time you've been spending with my sister." Then she gave a self-deprecating snort. "How fucked up is that?"

He smiled, gratefully.

"Very," he said.

"The only time you lose your medical acumen is when your feelings get involved," Cuddy said.

"I just. . ."

"You just what, House?"

"I just . . ." He looked at his desk. "I know how much I fucked up your life. I'll never forgive myself for that."

"I got your letters," she said. "I read your apologies."

"And now I'm saying in person," he said, looking at her. "I'm sorry. I'm as sorry as one man can possibly be."

"I know," she said, quietly.

"I just want to do right by you so badly," he said.

She met his gaze.

"You already _are_ doing right by me. By taking the case. By being so nice to my sister."

"You say that now."

"I mean it, House. If something, God forbid, happens to her, I won't blame you. This will still be on the plus side of the giant Gregory House ledger board I keep at home."

"I always suspected you had one of those."

"I'm serious, House. So think. What haven't you done that you normally do?"

"I've done everything the same. . ." House said, scratching his beard.

"No," Cuddy said, finally figuring something out. "You haven't."

"What do you mean? I've run all the tests, I've pored over her scans hundreds of times, I've. . ."

"You haven't broken into her house, have you?"

He gaped at her.

"She's your sister. I'm not going to break into her house!"

"You won't have to. I've got a spare key. Let's go."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

#####

House had only been to Julia's house twice before. That one ill-fated Thanksgiving Day prank and a second time, for a dinner party that Cuddy had dragged him to, nearly kicking and screaming. As per her instructions, he'd been on his best behavior. He was polite, quiet, he tried not to drink too much (he also tried to ignore the withering glares Julia kept shooting him from across the table). He even made a little small talk.

"House, I need help with the clasp on my dress," Cuddy said at one point. When he dutifully followed her into the bathroom, she gave him a tiny leer. "Drop your pants," she said.

"What?" he said, shocked.

"I'm reinforcing good behavior. Drop your pants," she said, kneeling on the bath mat in front of him.

(House actually got a little turned-on thinking about it: Among Cuddy's many other wonderful qualities, she was a great deliverer of stealth, surprise blow jobs.)

"Is this my first time on a B&E?" Cuddy mused now as she opened Julia's door.

"Ahh, how soon they forget," House said.

She laughed, suddenly remembering.

"Of course, right. Your little writer friend. To think, I thought we were on a date!"

"We were! To me, there's nothing more romantic than bringing the woman I love on a break-in."

They exchanged a look.

They entered the house. It seemed empty, in a specific sort of way that a house that had recently been filled with children and daily activity felt when it suddenly became quiet (Michael and the kids were staying with Arlene during Julia's hospital stay.)

"Where do we start?" Cuddy said.

"The master bathroom," House said.

"It's that way," Cuddy said.

"Oh, I remember it well," House said. And they both slightly blushed.

After they poked over and under the sink, revealing nothing more intimate than a bottle of Michael's viagra and Julia's $200-an-ounce anti-aging cream, they decided to split up.

House took the living room and kitchen. Cuddy took the master bedroom and guest room.

He spent 25 minutes combing over the living room (it yielded nothing—sagging plants, a PlayStation console, Julia's half finished needlepoint), then made his way to the kitchen. It seemed slightly more promising. It was like a vegan health store had exploded in there: The refrigerator was filled with soy milk, fruit and vegetables, not a piece of bacon in sight. The shelves were lined with jars of nuts and raisins. Just as he suspected, the cupboard was stocked with bran cereal that had names like "All Bran" and "Wheatie Flakes".

"Is your sister keeping the family on some sort of high fiber diet?" House yelled into the bedroom. There was no answer. He repeated himself. Still no answer. Frowning, he made his way into the bedroom.

Cuddy was curled up in a ball on the king-sized bed, still fully dressed (high heels and all), sound asleep. He watched her for a second, feeling an almost overwhelming pang of tenderness. Poor thing, he thought, she must be exhausted. He was tempted to let her sleep a few more minutes, but it was a nearly three hour drive back to Princeton.

So he bent toward her.

"Hey," he said, gently shaking her arm.

She stirred, but didn't wake up.

"Hey," he said, bending closer. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." It was something he used to say to her on those rare occasions she slept later than he did. And perhaps it was the familiarity of his voice and touch, the slight déjà vu of spending this much time together, or just her overall out-of-it-ness, but Cuddy slightly parted her lips and kissed him on the mouth.

House was stunned. So much so that, although it felt like tasting your most favorite memory, he was the one to actually pull away first. At which point, Cuddy opened her eyes and bolted upright on the bed, suddenly realizing what she had just done.

"Ohmygod," she said, putting her hand in front of her mouth. Her face turned bright red. "I'm sorry. I have no idea why I did that!"

"It's okay," he said, with a small smile.

"I was half asleep. It was like some sort of weird sense memory kicked in."

"You never have to apologize for wanting to kiss me," he said.

"I don't want to kiss you, House."

He couldn't help but to smirk, the tiniest bit.

"No, of course not."

"It's true!"

"What part of 'of course not' didn't you understand?"

She squinted at him: "It seemed smug."

"Let's forget about the smoking kiss for a second," he said. "Is your sister on some sort high fiber diet?"

"Probably," Cuddy said. Her face had regained most of its normal color at this point. "She's always following the latest trendy diet. Michael has to take the kids on secret fast food runs."

"High fiber could be something," House said, thoughtfully.

"Yeah?" Cuddy said. "How so?"

"Could be an obstruction."

"Like a benzoar?"

"It's possible," House said.

"But unlikely," Cuddy said.

"Yes, unlikely. But I didn't find anything else. Did you manage to look around the room before you zonked out?"

"Yeah. Nothing."

"Huh."

House shrugged.

But just as they were about to leave the house, something caught his eye. A bowl of rotting fruit on the dining room table. He hadn't thought much of it before; now he took a closer look.

"What fruit is this?" he said, raising a wrinkled, bruised, bright orange fruit.

"A persimmon. Why?" Cuddy said. Then it dawned her. "It is a phytobezoar!"

"High fiber diet, plus persimmon seeds, it's practically an invitation for one of these bad boys to form in her intestinal tract."

"Can we treat it endoscopically?"

"She's probably too far gone for that. We'll have to remove surgically. But…you know what this means, Cuddy?"

"It means my sister's going to live! She's going to be okay!"

She grinned, ran up to House, and gave him a grateful hug. He held her close, relishing the feel of her body against his.

When they parted, she said: "I meant to do that, by the way."

"I know," he replied happily.

#######

Julia was scheduled for surgery the next day. House surreptitiously poked his head into the waiting room: Arlene was there, with Michael, but no Cuddy. He ducked out before they could see him.

Where could she be? Was it possible she went to work? Then he shook his head: No chance. Cuddy wasn't going to work when her sister was about to go under the knife.

Back when she was dean of medicine, Cuddy had a few hiding places for those times when the stresses of her life were too much. House knew them all by heart: There was her own office bathroom, of course—convenient, but not exactly an ingenuous hiding place. There was the nursery—even less private, but the babies always put her in a better mood. There was the roof (that was actually more of House's hiding spot; but he had shared it with Cuddy on a few occasions). There was the park bench across the street. And there was the fourth floor corner stairwell—virtually unused by anyone except during fire drills. That was where he found her, sitting alone, her chin resting on her hands.

"Hi," he said, sitting next to her on the steps.

"How'd you know where to find me?" she said, surprised.

"Lucky guess. Why aren't you with your family?"

"Their nervous energy was making me. . .nervous-_er_."

"I happen to find Arlene Cuddy to be a very soothing presence," he cracked.

She smiled.

"You wanna be alone?" he asked.

"That was the plan," she said.

"Oh," he said, hurt.

"But you can stay."

He swallowed.

"Thanks."

He studied her for a second. She was biting her lip.

"She's going to be okay, you know."

"I know. It's just. . .I really hate waiting, you know?"

"Waiting sucks," he agreed.

They were silent for a few minutes and then, testing the waters, House put his arm around her. He expected her to withdraw, but instead she did the opposite—sidled up even closer.

"Thanks for sitting with me," she whispered.

"Anytime," he said. And he looked at her out of the corner of his eye adoringly.

######

A few hours later, House was in the DDx room going over files with his team, when he popped up.

"Where are you going?" Taub said.

"To check on my patient," House said.

"You don't have a patient. That's why we're looking at these files."

"Excuse you. I do have a patient. Her name is Julia Cuddy."

"You solved that case yesterday," Adams said, narrowing her eyes.

"I know, but she's still my patient!" House said, indignantly. And left he room so quickly he didn't even notice the dumbstruck looks on their faces.

The surgery, as predicted, went off without a hitch. Julia was sitting up in her hospital bed, chewing on ice chips, surrounded by her family. House lurked in the doorway for a second, not sure if he should interrupt.

It was Michael who saw him first.

"There he is!" he said, happily, rushing up to clap House on the back. "The man of the hour."

"I don't know about that. . ." House said, glancing at Cuddy.

"Hi doc," Julia said, with a weak wave.

He walked up to her. "How you feelin'?"

"Like someone removed the world's largest hairball from my gut."

"That's pretty accurate, from a medical standpoint," he said. "But no pain? No nausea?"

"I'm like a new woman already," she said. "I had no idea my persimmon fixation could potentially kill me."

"That's why I stick with scotch," House said. "Much safer."

Julia looked up at Arlene. "Mom, don't you have _something you want to say_ to House?"

Everyone looked at Arlene expectantly.

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped: "You're not a complete disaster," she said finally.

"Arlene, I'm moved," House said. Then, feeling awkward, he added: "Well, I'll let you guys do your … family thing."

And he stepped into the hall.

"I'll be right back," Cuddy said, following him.

"And it begins again," Arlene said, under her breath.

Cuddy followed him down the hall a bit and they finally stopped, with House leaning against a wall and Cuddy facing him.

"You did good," she said.

"Thanks. You too."

"And I lied. Turns out that fence can be mended. Or at least partially patched up."

"I'd like a chance to patch it up completely," he said, hopefully.

"I think I'd. . .like that too," she admitted.

House remembered the last time they were in this exact same position, three years ago—the day Cuddy had apologized for breaking his heart and he had lied to her and told her that it wasn't her fault and that everything would be okay.

Nothing had been okay until now. For the first time in three years, he felt like he could breath again.

So he leaned toward her, parted her lips with his own, and laid a gentle kiss on her mouth.

She didn't pull away, but let his mouth lightly graze hers. And then, just for a second, she welcomed his tongue, so soft and brief it was like it almost wasn't there—but it was: A declaration of his true feelings, and possibly, a promise of things to come.

"I meant to do that," he said, when they separated.

She smiled.

"Me too."

THE END


End file.
